


Wake Me With Love On Your Hands

by xxjinchuurikixx



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Night Terrors, kinda i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: Eggsy’s knows what’s going on, and he immediately sucks in a deep breath and rolls completely over, lightly touching Harry’s shoulder and repeating, “Harry. Harry, wake up.”*In which Harry gets some well-deserved angst





	Wake Me With Love On Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this on Zoey. Good job, bro  
> Uh, this isn't beta'd... Bataed? Beta-ed? Anyway, Lemme just say that. I gave myself a mini-goal and finished this, and now I must get it out into the world before I decide against it lol
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr!! [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)  
> -xo, mo

  
  


Eggsy stopped sleeping with a gun under his pillow months ago, when sleeping in the safe cage of Harry's arms was enough for him to feel safe closing his eyes and falling under.

He stopped sleeping with a gun under his pillow, even though the night terrors didn't just stop. Even Harry couldn’t get rid of them with a flick of the wrist. But they’d dwindled, gotten better, less violent, and Eggsy was starting to feel whole again.

He hadn’t had a night terror for an entire week when it suddenly happened.

A long mission had taken him to South Keeling and left him with a bullet wound on his forearm that he hoped would heal in the impressive whiplash curved shape it had taken. Merlin remarked upon the improvements in his knife throwing skills and Eggsy was pleased to learn only three innocent bystanders had been injured with no fatalities. When he returned home, he’d been so tired he’d gone upstairs and fallen into bed without much more than a kiss and a few encouraging words from Harry.

Hours later, he was still sleeping when Harry came up to lie beside him, and Eggsy turned over and curled into Harry’s chest, clinging to the dreadfully silken fabric of his nightshirt.

Harry pet his hair, kissed him again, and Eggsy fell back to sleep.

His mind was a blank slate of dreamless black, filled with swirling shadows and odd sparks of light.

Then there was a sound in the darkness.

A distressed, distant cry. It’s muffled by sleep and layers of material, but Eggsy still hears it.

He turns over in his sleep, towards the sound.

There’s another. An achy groan, fragile and short as a punched-out breath.

The bed beneath him creaks.

Eggsy mewls groggily and blinks in the darkness, his hand flying up and palming his cheek.

Beside him, that pained, almost terrified noise sounds again, and he’s instantly sparked awake by the flush of icy water it pulses through his veins.

His eyes snap open and he rises onto his elbow, looking down at Harry in the dull lighting cast from the street lamp beyond the farthest window. Eggsy’s instantly terrified, and his heart starts racing.

Harry’s brows are screwed up, pulled tight, making the scar above his left eye look somehow paler and more prominent. His mouth is a desperate scowl, lips parted, teeth clenching and unclenching, his breath a hard rush.

His bangs are stuck to his forehead by sweat, the rapid rise and fall of his chest drawing Eggsy’s attention downwards, to how Harry’s hands are fisting the sheets, how his knuckles are bleached bone white.

“ _Harry_ ,” Eggsy gasps, the sound raspy from sleep and choked off by the fear flooding his chest.

He’s never seen Harry like this-- _never_.

Harry Hart doesn’t have bad dreams.

But then Harry whimpers in his sleep again, and thrashes roughly enough to have woken a person in a lesser state of distress.

He’s in deep.

Eggsy’s knows what’s going on, and he immediately sucks in a deep breath and rolls completely over, lightly touching Harry’s shoulder and repeating, “Harry. Harry, wake up.”

Nothing.

Harry groans in his sleep and twitches again, one hand flying off the sheet to dance across Eggsy’s leg before he grabs the duvet there and digs his fingers in.

“Harry, wake up. Wake up, sweetheart. Puh- _please_ ,” Eggsy says, trying to stay calm though his anxiety is rising into the sound of his quickly-sobering voice.

Harry’s mouth falls open and his head tips to the side, and his whole face screws up as if he’s just been hit with a fantastic sum of pain.

Eggsy’s eyes water. “ _Harry_ , please, _wake up!_ ” He says more frantically, shakes Harry a bit harder.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He can’t panic, he has to be gentle. He can’t lift Harry out of this state in a frenzy of dismay. Eggsy tries to focus, tries to breathe, but all he can see is Harry’s pain, his suffering, his inability to fight the demons attacking him in his sleep, and all logic and training goes out the window.

“Harry, _wake the fuck up!_ ” Eggsy nearly screams, and he rises up and puts one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other at the base of his throat, and his panicked press is enough to have Harry’s eyes flying open.

Before Eggsy can register relief at having saved Harry from his nightmare, one of Harry’s hands is flying up under his pillow, the other locking snugly around Eggsy’s throat, and the world goes toppling over in the dark.

Eggsy’s suddenly on his back, Harry looming over him like an unchained beast, sweaty hair falling about his face, teeth bared--

And a gun pressed to Eggsy’s forehead.

Eggsy may have stopped sleeping with a gun any closer than the bedside table drawer, but clearly Harry still has one within arm’s reach at all times.

And Eggsy’s heart thrusts up against his ribs and stops there like a car hitting a brick wall when the glock gives the distinct click of being cocked.

The metal is so cold it burns, it fucking _bites_ , and Eggsy stops breathing, mouth hanging open, eyes wide with bewilderment.

Harry’s panting harshly, his grip on Eggsy’s throat far different that it ever has been in the past. This isn’t a playful press, a squeeze to elicit a moan from Eggsy’s lips.

This… This nearly chokes the air from Eggsy’s lungs altogether.

This may bruise.

Eggsy’s unsure how long it lasts. It could be seconds, it could be several divine _hours_ , before he’s able to swallow against Harry’s touch and whine, “It’s me.”

Harry blinks, pupil blown in the darkness, but Eggsy can see the confusion lingering in the light of his mismatched, feral, agonized stare.

The gun presses a bit more firmly to the broad bone of his forehead, and Eggsy slowly lifts a hand to curl it around Harry’s wrist, the one connected to the hand nearly crushing his throat.

“It’s Eggsy,” he whispers. “You were having a bad dream… We’re at home--in Stanhope Mews. You… Harry, it’s _me_. You’re _safe,_ ” Eggsy recites, hearing Harry’s voice after a hundred terrible nights, after dozens of raw screams.

Harry huffs out a pained breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head once, as if to clear it.

When he looks at Eggsy again, there’s more light in his gaze, a softer set to his mouth.

Eggsy sighs. “ _Sweetheart_ …”

And a tear runs down Harry’s right cheek.

His sharp intake of breath and immediate posture shift alert Eggsy to his awareness, and suddenly, his hand around Eggsy’s windpipe flexes, then releases him.

Eggsy reaches up, touches his fingertips to Harry’s other wrist, and feels the gun quake against his forehead.

“It’s alright…”

Harry growls sharply, a sound more pained than enraged, and when he locks his eyes to the gun he sharply pulls it back from Eggsy’s skin, uncocks it, discharges the clip, and throws the metal to the floor where it skids all the way to the bathroom door.

“Oh, god, Eggsy. My darling, I’m so--oh, please, _forgive me_ ,” Harry rasps, leaning back onto his knees and staring at his hands as if they were drenched in Eggsy’s blood already.

He’s crying twin streams, though Eggsy knows his left eye burns like fucking hell when it produces tears, and he looks so ashamed, so distraught, so fucking _guilty_ , even though nothing happened.

Eggsy shakes his head violently, sits up, and catches Harry by the shirt before he can pull away further.

“It’s alright, love. Please--relax. It’s all alright,” he says gently, drawing Harry close despite the older man’s hands pushing against his chest and shoulders.

“I cannot believe--oh Eggsy, my _god_. I cannot _begin_ to say how truly, incredibly _sorry_ I am. Oh, _please--_ ”

Harry babbles, desperately shaking his head, trying to pull away from Eggsy in vain like a tiny child.

Eggsy shushes him firmly and tugs Harry into his arms until the damp mess of his brunet hair is tucked safely under Eggsy’s chin.

It’s oddly satisfying, to hold Harry as if he were a child. It fills Eggsy with a determination unlike he’s ever known; to protect Harry, to make a cage of safety with his arms, to lift Harry up from his crash with the sweetness of his heartbeat.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright. Everythin’s fine. I’m here, I'm right here. I've got you," he whispers. He cards his fingers through Harry's hair, stifles a whimper when Harry buries his face into his neck and wheezes.

Eggsy's chest is damp, and Harry's curled against him, half in his lap, and Eggsy stares at the dark wall across the room and holds Harry. No force on earth could tear Harry from his arms, no way in hell. He kisses Harry's hair and sighs heavily, shoulders heaving.

"...did I hurt you?" Harry whispers after what seems like ages, and Eggsy stiffens.

"Don't. Don't fuckin' go there, Harry."

"Eggsy, please--"

“Love, don’t. Just don’t,” Eggsy laughs softly, then manages to get a hand between himself and Harry to tilt his chin up.

Harry’s face is flushed, his eyes red-rimmed and his bottom lip trembling.

“If I remember, I once pulled a gun on _you_ after a nightmare,” Eggsy offers softly, and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and makes a wrecked sound. His hands curve around Eggsy’s hips and he squeezes. Hard.

“Eggsy, this is not a _joke_.”

“And I’m not laughin’. Harry, talk to me. Tell me about the nightmare,” Eggsy says warmly, gripping Harry by his hair and tugging him in close. “Talk to me. Please, let me be here for you.”

“I’m alright, darling. I just need to be alone for a minute,” Harry mumbles, and he honest to god tries to pry himself from Eggsy’s grasp _again_.

A sharp lick of anger sparks under Eggsy’s heart like a flame and he glares at Harry before he takes their situation and uses it to his advantage.

Harry makes a small, startled sound in his throat when Eggsy uses his leg hooked under Harry’s thighs to flip them. He’s lying atop Harry, a hand on either side of his face, their bodies pressed together tight from the chest down.

“Don’t do that. You don’t get to fuckin’ do that to me. Harry, you scared me. You put a gun to my head, you’re crying. You can’t talk to me? Where the fuck are you gonna go?” Eggsy growls, and Harry’s hands press to his sides firmly.

“I just need a _minute_ , Eggsy. You’ve never woken up before, and I--”

“ _What was that?_ ” Eggsy whispers, and Harry’s eyes go wide.

He hiccups, another tear trekking down his cheek.

“This… This has happened before? And you never fuckin’ told me?” Eggsy rasps incredulously, and he cups Harry’s cheek in his hand, thumbing the hot, wet streak. “Sweetheart, why the hell wouldn’t you talk to me about this?”

“My sweet boy,” Harry husks, and his palms skim up Eggsy’s bare ribs.

“What are they about?”

Harry closes his eyes and sniffles.

“Tell me.”

Tears run down Harry’s flushed cheeks.

“ _Please…_ ”

Harry exhales a watery sigh, then looks up at Eggsy and breathes, "Nothing you don't already know."

Eggsy's gut twists. He’s said that before. "The church."

_Just like him._

Harry nods. "It's always there, but it's seldom the same. I often have nightmares about it, but they are only on occasion as... Violent as this one."

Eggsy nods. Just like his.

"Go on, love," he encourages, brushing his thumb across Harry's cheek soothingly. He rests forward, using his weight to press Harry into the mattress in a way that forced him to breathe more slowly.

"...You were there," Harry breathes. "You are quite often, in fact."

Eggsy blinks, lips parting. This shouldn't be surprising, but he's honestly a tad shocked that Harry has night terrors about the church and _he_ is there.

"Those are the worst," Harry admits. "I know that must sound ill-hearted of me, and terribly inconsiderate... But of all the things I did in that church, none of them compare to the idea, the tiniest possibility, of you having been there when I..."

Eggsy closes his eyes. "Weren't your fault. We've talked about this, Harry. You wasn't in your right mind--it'll be alright someday. I'm here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Harry nods. "I know, _I know..."_ He sighs heavily. "It was just..."

Eggsy waits.

"You came to save me... You know, in dreams, it doesn't always make sense. How you got there so fast, how the computer waves didn’t work on you. I…” Harry breaks off. “I slaughtered them--all of them, like always. But once they were dead the rage, the drive… It didn’t stop.

“That’s when you came in.”

Eggsy’s heart stutters.

“You were somehow unaffected. Kept rambling on about how you saw everything, how you came to get me. You said it wasn’t my fault--you precious thing,” Harry whispers, stroking his fingertips down Eggsy’s sides, touching his hips and then riding back up to his ribs. One of his hands lowers itself in order to press his thumb to the knotted scar on Eggsy’s side. “And I… I…”

“It wasn’t over quickly, was it?”

Fresh tears spill from the corners of Harry’s eyes, and he has to tear one hand away to press the heel to his left as he hisses in pain.

“I had dropped my gun--I didn’t have a knife… I just used my bare hands. You were crying; I felt your bones break under my hands. Your gorgeous face was soaked in blood, you just kept _apologizing_ , saying it was alright. I couldn’t stop myself, and I woke up just in time to watch you breathe your last… And then Valentine came in and shot me in the head,” Harry rushes out, as if the recount tastes sour in his mouth.

Eggsy imagines the words taste much like copper and iron--blood sloshing over Harry’s tongue, the way it used to for Eggsy.

“I’m so sorry, Eggsy,” Harry whispers, and he reaches up tentatively and touches Eggsy’s throat. “Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Eggsy says without a thought, taking Harry’s hand and removing it from his neck in favor of kissing his fingertips. “Tell me about the others… Are they different? Like mine?”

Harry nods. “Sometimes it’s not Valentine who shoots me… As improbable as it seems, sometimes it’s you.”

Eggsy closes his eyes and nods.

“More often than not, though, you meet your end by my hands. I’ve stabbed you, shot you, squeezed the life from your gorgeous throat. It… You can’t imagine how much it hurts me when you have night terrors about me killing you.”

That makes Eggsy’s heart feel leaden and spiked, and he tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. “But I haven’t. I haven’t for a long while now.”

“But you still dream of me slaughtering a church full of innocent people and then you watch me die. It’s hardly an appropriate substitution,” Harry sighs. “I’m so sickened with myself--that you saw, that you remember. That these beautiful eyes saw my hands do terrible things.” He brushes his thumb under Eggsy’s eye, traces the crescent of his lashes.

Harry trembles when Eggsy turns his face to kiss his wrist. “I know you expect this to be alright someday… I know you don’t seem to mind. But, my love, these hands aren’t worthy of touching you. I can’t--”

Eggsy dips down and claims Harry’s mouth with his, sighing against his lips and threading his fingers into Harry’s thick hair. “Don’t,” he groans, and it sparks an idea in Eggsy’s skull. It leaks down his spine and nestles like a desperate ache at the top of his tailbone, and before he registers his own bodily actions, he’s parting his thighs and straddling Harry.

Harry makes a mewling sound in his throat, hands cupping Eggsy’s cheek and waist with more pressure.

“Touch me,” Eggsy whispers, and he grinds his hips down flush against Harry’s, huffing out a shaky breath at the friction it creates between them.

“Eggsy--”

“Your hands are the only hands I want on me, Harry. Ever. So don’t you go sayin’ you’re no good for me--cause I can’t live without this,” Eggsy sighs, running his palms over Harry’s shoulders, down his chest. “We don’t have to worry about the nightmares. When we wake up, we’re together. You’d never hurt me--you came back to me. And now I’ll never let you go. That’s all that matters.”

Harry sighs against Eggsy’s mouth, then sniffles, and Eggsy ducks his head to kiss the tender flesh of Harry’s throat. He drags his hips up slowly, bears down on Harry with a moan muffled against his hammering pulse.

Harry grunts, digging his thumb into the meat above Eggsy’s hip. “You’ll ruin me one day, Eggsy Unwin. One day, you’re going to make me believe I deserve this love you’ve given me.”

“Working on it,” Eggsy whines, finding his cock is already more than half hard as he rocks against Harry again.

“Eggsy, give me--”

“The last thing you need is a minute alone,” Eggsy sighs, kissing at Harry’s collar, fumbling with the buttons of his confounded sleep shirt. It’s so mother fucking soft, Eggsy presses his face to it and sighs. “I know what you need.”

And Eggsy’s brain gets clogged up, a few gears not turning on their teeth, because _does he?_ Harry’s older than him, lived more life. He knows how to care for Eggsy. He knows how to handle him when he’s cracked and fragile, knows how to be gentle and put him back together before he moves him.

But Eggsy knows Harry.

He’s not quite so fragile of mind and body, but of heart?

Eggsy knows what he needs.

He whimpers as he drags his body against Harry, rutting his dick against Harry’s hip as he palms his exposed chest.

“C’mon, Harry. Put your hands on me,” Eggsy moans in invitation, hating how Harry’s hands have fled his skin.

“Oh, my love…” Harry groans, and Eggsy can feel it, the hard length of Harry’s cock waking up beside his. He’s already damp, somehow, and Eggsy grins against Harry’s pulse over his small triumph.

Then Harry sniffles again.

“Eggsy, I can’t. I can’t _breathe_ ,” Harry whines, and Eggsy sits back and cups Harry’s face in his hands.

There are no words he can give this man to prove his love. There is nothing Eggsy can say--he knows, he’s still searching--to show Harry his hands, while not completely clean, are perfect. They’re all Eggsy needs.

“I have no breath,” Harry gasps, and Eggsy looms over him, brushing his thumbs over Harry's cheeks.

“Take mine,” he husks, and then he’s kissing Harry again. “Breathe with me love.”

Harry drags in a deep breath, and when he exhales, Eggsy kisses his cheekbone.

“That's it. I'll take care of you, Harry. It's alright--just breathe,” Eggsy says again.

Harry's breathing steadies slowly, and he's holding onto Eggsy so tightly bruised may bloom there.

“I'm right here,” Eggsy says, and then he turns their faces together and kisses Harry's lips again.

It takes Harry all of twelve seconds to have his hands curling bruises into the spaces between Eggsy’s ribs, plundering Eggsy’s mouth with his tongue. Eggsy moans into it, rolling his hips, thrusting his fingers into Harry’s ridiculous mane.

Eggsy is sighing as Harry’s hands grope and slide across the flesh of his bare torso. He drags his nails down Eggsy’s shoulder blades, presses his thumbs into the dimples just above the swell of his sweet arse. Then he slides his hands into Eggsy’s drawstrings and gropes at the taut flesh. “ _Yes,_ Harry.”

“I need you,” Harry groans, palming one hand back up the path of Eggsy’s spine.

“I know you do, love,” Eggsy sighs. Though to be perfectly honest, every time Harry says that, it’s like brand fucking new to Eggsy. It kicks his heart into the ceiling and Eggsy bites onto Harry’s shoulder and presses their dicks together with an insistent, continuous grind.

Harry bucks up into the pressure, yanking Eggsy down with firm hands on his hips. “I need you _now_ ,” Harry positively growls, and then he’s bruising Eggsy’s hips and biting feverishly along the golden cord of muscle in Eggsy’s throat.

“You have me. I’m right here--everything’s alright,” Eggsy says again, because Harry is still shaking. He’s still coming out of it--but he needs to be brought out in a different way. He needs his hands on Eggsy’s skin, to feel his pulse in a more thunderous light. Harry’s trauma is not Eggsy’s--it must be dealt with in a different way.

Eggsy shakes his head, sitting up and putting his hands on Harry’s chest. He touches his skin, skitters his fingers across the sinfully dark curls of coarse hair between Harry’s pecs. “Talk to me, love. Tell me what you need. What do I have to do?”

Harry groans through his teeth. “You. Naked,” he bites out.

“Got it,” Eggsy husks, then he’s holding back a noise of disappointment at the loss of friction. It takes him only a few seconds to rise up on his knees to tug and kick out of his plaid pants before he’s lying his naked body down across Harry’s.

“ _Perfect_ ,” Harry sighs, running his hands all over Eggsy’s bare skin. He presses his fingertips to the backs of Eggsy’s calves, then brushes them feather-light up his thighs, over his arse. One hand lingers to play lightly against the crease of his cheeks, and Eggsy gives a shaky sigh  while the other hand follows his spine then traces down his shoulder and arm. Harry stops at the heavy gauze bandage wrapped around Eggsy’s left forearm and Eggsy sighs drowsily.

“Stop getting hurt,” Harry commands.

Eggsy snickers. “Not much to do about it, love.”

Harry tuts at him, lifting Eggsy's arm so he can press a kiss to the bandaged area. “Reckless. My reckless darling.”

Eggsy reaches for the buttons of Harry's nightshirt, but his hand instantly gets swatted away.

“No, Eggsy,” Harry says simply, and so Eggsy obeys.

Forgoing his desire to have Harry just as naked as him, he shimmies down Harry’s body in search of another want.

Harry sighs. “Planning something, are you?”

“I'll give you whatever you need,” Eggsy whispers, hooking his fingers into the band of Harry's sleep pants, tugging them down just far enough for the head of his swollen cock to peak out.

Harry hisses and reaches down to tangle a hand in Eggsy's hair. “You don't have to.”

“I want to,” Eggsy nearly moans, and then he laves the broad flat of his tongue over Harry's leaking slit. “I always want to,” he adds with a grin.

“And besides,” Eggsy says, after a great deal of time spent drooling across Harry's cock. “Need you wet.”

“Need to hold you, darling,” Harry says, voice brittle in the dark.

Eggsy sucks Harry’s cock wetly, leaving far too much slick all over it, just enough for his next move to be comfortable. “I’m comin’, Harry,” he says, and then he shimmies back up the bed and turns over, scooting back until his back pushes against Harry’s front. “C’mere.”

Harry puts an arm around him, rolling close as Eggsy lifts one leg high, reaches between it. He touches Harry’s cock, gently, slotting it between his thighs, which are already a little sticky from his own sweat and precum.

Harry groans when Eggsy closes his legs, thighs tight and warm around Harry’s cock, nudged up close under Eggsy’s balls. “Oh, Eggsy… You clever thing.”

“That I am,” Eggsy says, and he reaches back and grips Harry’s hip, which gets Harry rocking at a comfortable pace.

His breath is hot and damp on Eggsy’s throat, against his shoulder, and the feel of his blood-hot and thick and hard between Eggsy’s legs has Eggsy panting and quivering.

“Eggsy, darling,” Harry says, and he reaches over Eggsy’s hip, fingers slipping perfectly around Eggsy’s achy cock.

Eggsy bucks, toes curling. “Harry, you don’t have to.”

“I do. I need to; I need you to come with me,” Harry says, tugging Eggsy faster than his own hips are going, the rhythm building the heat in Eggsy’s abdomen.

“Well, keep that up, it won’t be long,” Eggsy pants, curling one hand into the sheets, the other gripping tight at Harry’s soft sleep pants.

Harry’s hips move slow, sinful, the motion something Eggsy likes very much when Harry is situated deep inside him, hot and close as close can be. His gun calloused palm has Eggsy biting his lip, white lights dancing behind his tightly shut eyes, and he can feel Harry’s heartbeat against his shoulder.

“Come for me, Harry, please,” Eggsy says, and Harry’s hand strips his cock roughly, the pace suddenly too quick for Eggsy to keep up with. He makes a broken sound, mewling as he turns his face into the pillow and pushes his hips back against Harry’s lap. He starts shaking, cum dripping over Harry’s knuckles as Harry buries his face against the back of Eggsy’s neck.

“Eggsy,” Harry groans, and then his hips still, pressed flush to Eggsy’s arse, and Eggsy can feel a rush of hot, sticky slick spilling across his thighs.

“That’s it, Harry, fuck,” Eggsy moans, Harry’s hand slowing on his wet cock. Eggsy looks down, catches sight of Harry’s cockhead, flushed red, still dripping cum on his skin, and he grins. “Fuck.” Eggsy tenses his thighs, stretches the slightest bit, and the added squeeze on Harry’s cock makes him moan filthily before he releases Eggsy’s dick and digs his blunt nails into Eggsy’s thigh.

“Brat,” Harry says, then licks Eggsy’s sweat-damp neck.

“You feel so good, though,” Eggsy groans. “I woulda been watchin’ the show if you hadn’t gone and grabbed my dick. Can’t keep my eyes open too well when your hands are on me.”

“Flattering… my endeavors have proven successful.”

“Hm, talk dirty to me, Harry.”

Harry kisses his shoulder, and then sighs loudly, a relaxed, easy noise. “I should get something to clean this up.”

“Leave it,” Eggsy says, turning his head to kiss at Harry’s jaw.

“Eggsy--”

“Just stay, okay? We’re fine like this, I promise. Please, don’t worry…”

“Oh, Eggsy, darling, this--”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Eggsy laughs drowsily, shifting back against Harry’s still mostly-hard cock, pulling those strong, warm arms around him tighter. “We’re fine _just like this_.”

Harry stiffens, clearly not believing a word Eggsy is saying. But then he sighs, warm breath like a wave on Eggsy’s bare shoulders, and he grins when Harry presses his face firmly against the dip of his neck.

“Yes, Eggsy…” Harry says quietly, and Eggsy’s chest squeezes up like an iron vice while spontaneously bursting into a thousand glittering shards of honey-colored glass. He reaches down and grabs at the blankets, and Harry helps him to cover them back up.

“Comfy?”

“We are going to be much less happy when the mess dries.”

Eggsy grins. “I’m not worried about it.” He lifts Harry’s hand to kiss it, and he mewls contentedly when Harry hugs him so tightly his body aches.

“I love you, Harry… You know that, right? I say it enough?” Eggsy asks, because while he says it enough for their daily life to be considered a cheesy romance movie, he feels like he can never say it too many times.

Harry confirms this thought when he kisses the fine hairs on the nape of Eggsy’s neck. “Once more couldn’t hurt, as always…”

And Eggsy smiles.

And says it twice.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a convo I had with Zo like a year ago, aaaaand it went like::  
> Zoey: so like breathless focuses a ton on Eggsy's angst and suffering and his night terrors. But it was HARRY who got shot in the head... Shouldn't HE still be struggling with this fact? Shouldn't he have more angst rather than just being Eggsy's comforting shoulder?  
> Me:................ fuck you
> 
> And here you have the fruits of my labor and such. This was ALMOST pure angst and fluff and then [thirstforfirth](http://thirstforfirth.tumblr.com/) was a sin enabler. Thanks, babe.
> 
> Sorry for not posting anything recently, my pretty, patient darlings. I love you guys so much!! Hope you enjoy this to tide you over while I roll around in my cave  
> 


End file.
